Page 41 of Picture Perfect

"Always am," he shoots back with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

My heart hammers against my ribs, threatening to burst. "Stop!" I try to shout, but the word is a whisper, drowned out by the clash of egos and the crack of wood on metal.

"Saint! Look out!" Dre's warning slices through the night as Preston lunges, swinging wildly. Saint deflects the bat with his forearm, the sound echoing sharply. With a fluid grace born of too many fights, he delivers a punishing blow to Preston's midsection.

"Stay down!" Saint snarls, his dark hair falling into his eyes, but Preston is undeterred, rage fueling him.

"Addy, focus on breathing," Gen instructs, guiding me gently. Her calm demeanor is a stark contrast to the bedlam unfolding before us.

"Can't believe he actually..." My voice wavers, betrayal stinging anew.

"Shh, don't talk," Gen urged. "Just breathe."

Shouts grow louder, bodies clash with unrestrained violence, and the evening air fills with the scent of danger. Somewhere in the melee, the bat clatters to the ground.

"Chess!" My shout is lost in the cacophony, my gaze darting between the figures that danced dangerously close to the edge of disaster. My heart hammers against the bruise forming on my side, each beat a reminder of the even darker turn my life has taken.

"Addy, we can't stay here," Gen whispers urgently, tugging at my arm. But my feet are rooted to the spot, my soul torn between escape and the overwhelming impulse to rush back into the fray.

I feel crazy, crazed. These boys have literally kidnapped me. Held me against my will. For collateral. Like I'm a fucking possession.

But, there's something else weaving its way between us. They're assholes. Dangerous, maybe even more so than Preston. But, for some reason, I trust them.

Says a lot about the kind of people in my life, doesn't it?

With the bat taken out of the equation, the chaos of the fight slowly begins to die down. The second Preston is pinned to the ground, Chess and Dre rush over to where Gen and I are standing.

With the knife still clutched in his bloodied knuckles, Dre takes my face in his hands. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice laced with genuine concern.

But then his lips are on mine, rough and demanding, and I can't help but respond with a kiss of my own. He pulls back to look me in the eyes again, running a calloused hand—the knife-free one—through my hair, sending shivers down my spine. He leans his forehead against mine as we catch our breaths.

Then he's gone and Chess is taking his place at my side. His hand rests heavily on Gen's shoulder, with his other arm he pulls me close and wraps around me in a comforting embrace. I can feel his breaths tickling the hairs at my temple.

"Are you okay? Tell me you're okay."

"We need to get out of here," Gen says, her eyes darting around nervously. "I don't want to stick around for the aftermath."

I hear a car door slam before Saint makes his way over to us, wiping the blood from his lips. He spits as he runs his eyes over Gen and me. With a nod, he turns to his boys. "Fucker shorted us a grand."

"Fucker's lucky he's not dead after what he did to my Snowflake," Dre's voice is laced with violence.

His? It sends a shiver down my spine.

"We need to clean this up some," Saint says, tossing his keys to Gen. "Take her to the car. We'll be there in five."

"Promise?"

"Pinky promise."

Chapter nineteen

Chess

The chill of the night air bites at my skin as I watch until the girls are safely in the car. I turn my attention to Saint and Dre, watching them loom over Preston's slumped form. This went fucking sideways fast.

"Yo, Saint, check this out," I call out, my voice tinged with a dark humor that doesn't quite sit right. I brandish Preston's bat like a trophy before hurling it with a grunt into the dense shrubbery that lines the desolate lot. The bat disappears with a rustling thud and the shadows swallow it whole.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," I mutter under my breath, not sure if I'm referring to the bat or its owner.

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